A Boo-Hoo In The Attic Poem by Troy Cochran

Monday, January twelfth.

I think the attic knows more
Than it lets on.

Usually it sleeps all day long,
Never getting up until the guests are gone.
(It's Dickinsonian: considers anything without a nest
An unwelcome visitor; creaks about the house
Preoccupied with death.)

This morning, though, it's up before the crack of dawn,
Rummaging through itself to put something darker on, I guess.
I don't know. Wanting some attention, maybe.
Worrying about the snow load.

Yes, I shouldn't wonder
That it's packed its bags, and coming down the steps
Dressed to move on, find a place where an upper floor
Can get some True rest.

Must be in a right state, too:
I felt a tear drop on my head
When I was getting out of bed,
And I thought I heard a boo-hoo.